dust to dust
by ThatGirlIsabel
Summary: Jeff comes home. Post U2.


Sometimes I go to my unhappy place.

* * *

She could put off her producers until tomorrow, and wait until she got somewhat settled at home to call family and friends to let everyone know she'd landed safely, but this was something that had to be done right now.

Elena turned down the cab driver's offer to wait with the meter running and tipped him well even though she'd had to get her own bag out of the trunk. When she was done here her load would be lighter for a few articles of clothing and personal effects, and of course the carved wooden box that had ridden on her lap from the airport. As he drove away she stood on the sidewalk with her duffel on her shoulder and the box in her hands, wondering exactly what to say and how to go about saying it, what to avoid mentioning altogether…

It was a nice neighborhood. Big lawns, manicured hedges, Spanish-tiled roofs. The sun was high and bright, the smell of spring in the air, and from different yards came different sounds; a pool party in full swing, a dog barking, a distant lawnmower. But in her heart Elena was back in that room at the top of the stairs, rain pouring in the open window and all the hair on her arms burned off from that near miss with the RPG. She smelled smoke and blood and the slime of wet wood under the window. Instead of green lawns in springtime she saw her friend dead on the floor.

Mourning was easier in the mountain village, with relationships and recovery to occupy her mind and grief taking its own turn at appropriate intervals. Now she had no such distractions and her every thought brought her right back to that moment. Lazarevic's little smile when he asked his question and pulled his pistol, the awful feeling of knowing what was about to happen a heartbeat before it did and being powerless to stop it. The heat of the muzzle and the stink of burnt powder and _Oh God I'm next, he's going to kill me next_. She hardly recalled Nate and the others being there- that pistol waving at her head was her whole entire world at that point. And Jeff slumped over himself in a spreading pool of blood, silent and staring. She couldn't even remember his last words or what they had last said to one another.

And she had no idea what she would say now, to his mother. She was expected even without calling ahead; the US embassy in Kathmandu had already notified the next of kin, although the exact manner had most likely gone unmentioned and Elena would spare what details she could out of respect. The carved wooden box was their consolation as well- she had Nate and Chloe to thank for making those arrangements while she lay bedridden- Nepali did not bury their dead or make a practice of shipping remains back to a country of residence. It would be hard when the tears came, but crying was cathartic, and from the few times they had met in the past she'd gotten the impression of a sweet old soccer mom, the overly maternal type who offered a place at the dinner table after knowing you for all of five minutes and lent a coat from her own closet for the ride home if it was chilly out. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

And yet she hesitated at the door as a sense of dread settled over her. It wasn't as if she had not known this was a possibility. _"We knew what the stakes were."_ Nate was sweet to apologize for his part, but he wasn't responsible no matter what he said. Chasing dangerous quarry came with a risk of getting caught no matter the precautions and they had both been fully aware of that fact going in. Had she been standing where he was when the shooting started it could have been her in this little box, and Jeff at her mom and dad's. _The duty of those left in death's wake_ , Elena thought sadly, forcing herself to knock before she could lose herself in thoughts of how her parents might react.

When nothing happened at first she was afraid nobody was home, until the door finally creaked inward. Elena was looking down at the box- later she would feel guilty for wanting to spare herself the sight of the initial recognition and inevitable realization of why she was here- so she never saw the blow coming. She got as far as an "I'm sorry" to the sneakers and puffy pink ankle weights in her line of vision when a stinging slap cut her off, immediately followed by another on the same side, harder.

She stumbled backwards and dropped her duffel on the first strike, and would have dropped poor Jeff on the second if his mother had not snatched him away. In her eyes was a twisted tangle of pain and something that looked like hate, and as one hand flashed up again Elena flinched in fear of another slap only to get hit with a rush of air as the door slammed shut in her face instead.

Her cheek burned as her heart sank. There would be no celebration of life to make up for missed goodbyes, no comfort taken in mutual grief and fond remembrance, no need to hide her shrapnel scars so as not to have her own injuries overshadow the subject at hand. The image of the broken woman clutching her son's ashes to her chest was one that would stay with her forever. _Maybe I deserve that._

She could hear Jeff's mother sobbing on the other side of the door. It was solid wood, almost two inches thick to protect against the elements and intrusive neighbors alike, but did little to muffle the sounds of sorrow. There was a cat in the front window she hadn't noticed before, an obscenely fat gray-and-white tabby that stretched and yawned and meowed silently behind the glass, oblivious and affectionate through a blur of sudden tears. When Elena squeezed her eyes shut the _WHAM_ of the slamming door became the sound of a single pistol shot and she saw it happening all over again.

The neighbor's dog was still going; laughter and splashing from next door; a leaf blower had replaced the mower at some point. The cat rolled on the windowsill. Birds fluttered from tree to tree and sang to one another in high, happy voices.

She bent to pick up her bag. It felt heavier somehow.


End file.
